Hey there, beautiful souls, Pastor Scott here, sorry it’s been a minute.
I have a few minutes today and I’ve been reading this verse today just meditating on it and perhaps you’re sometimes like me with what seems to be the weight of the world on your shoulders. This verse has gives me hope, and I think it will do the same for you.

Today, let’s lean ponder this verse full of promise hope and assurance because it’s something that resonates with me and with the kind of truth that can shift the air around us all. Lets dig into that verse. It’s Psalm 55:22.

It says, “Cast your cares on the Lord, and he will sustain you; he will never let the righteous be shaken.”
Let that sink in for a second. “Cast your cares.” Not toss them lightly like you’re skipping stones on a lake, but “cast” them—like a fisherman throwing a net, like you’re heaving something heavy into the arms of someone stronger. There’s weight to this word. There’s intention here. There’s a letting go that feels like both surrender and strength. Life, right? It’s heavy sometimes. You’ve got bills stacking up, relationships fraying or just plain falling apart, dreams that feel like they’re slipping through your fingers. Maybe you’re carrying grief that’s too big for words, or anxiety that wakes you up at 3 a.m. with a racing heart. And here’s David, the poet-king, the guy who’s been betrayed, chased, and undone, whispering to us across centuries: “Cast it. Give it to God. He’s got you.” What’s wild about this verse is that it’s not just a command—it’s a promise. God doesn’t just say, “Hand it over.” He says, “I’ll sustain you.” That word, “sustain”—it’s not about a quick fix or a pat on the back. It’s about being held up, carried, nourished, like a plant getting just the right amount of water and light to keep growing.

It’s God saying, “I see the weight you’re carrying, and I’m not going anywhere. I’ll hold you steady.” And then there’s that last bit: “He will never let the righteous be shaken.” Never. Not when the diagnosis comes, not when the job falls through, not when the world feels like it’s spinning out of control. The righteous—those who are chasing after God’s heart, who are trying, stumbling, and getting back up—aren’t promised a life without storms. But they’re promised a God who keeps them anchored through it all.

So, what’s the invitation here? It’s to stop clutching. To stop white-knuckling your worries like they’re yours to solve alone. What if you took that thing—the one that’s been keeping you up at night—and you just… let it go? Not because you’re giving up, but because you’re giving it “over”. You’re trusting that the God who made the stars, who knows every crack in your heart, is big enough to handle it. This isn’t about pretending everything’s fine. David, the guy who wrote this psalm, was in the middle of betrayal and chaos when he penned these words. He wasn’t floating on a cloud of good vibes. He was raw, real, and probably a little scared. But he knew something we often forget: God’s not afraid of our mess. He’s not asking us to clean it up before we come to Him. He’s saying, “Bring it. All of it. The fear, the doubt, the anger, the questions. I can take it.”

What would it look like to cast your cares today? Maybe it’s a prayer whispered in the car on your way to work. Maybe it’s writing down that thing you’re afraid to name and leaving it on the page, an offering of trust. Maybe it’s just sitting still for a minute and saying, “God, I don’t know how to let this go, but I’m trying.”

There’s freedom on the other side of casting. There’s a lightness, a steadiness, a knowing that you’re not alone. Because the God who sustains you? He’s not just powerful—He’s personal. He’s close. He’s got you, right here, right now, in the middle of whatever you’re facing. So, let’s ponder this together, friends. What’s the weight you’re carrying? What’s the care you need to cast? And what might happen if you trusted—really trusted—that God’s got you, that He’ll sustain you, that He won’t let you be shaken?

Questions to Chew On Today:

1. What’s one care you’re holding onto right now that feels too heavy to carry alone? What would it look like to cast it onto God?

2. When you hear “He will sustain you,” what does that stir in you?
Do you believe God can hold you up, even in the messiest parts of your life? Why or why not?

3. What’s one small step you can take today to let go of control and trust God with your worries?

4. How might your life feel different if you truly believed you wouldn’t be shaken, no matter what comes?

Keep pondering, keep casting, keep trusting.
You’re not alone in this.
-Grace and peace, Pastor Scott

Hey there, friend.
Let’s talk about liminal spaces. You know, those weird, in-between places where you’re not quite *here* anymore but not fully *there* yet either? Doorways, thresholds, moments where the veil between you and the divine feels so thin it’s like you could reach out and touch it. The Celts called these “thin places,” spots where heaven and earth brush up against each other, where you can almost hear the heartbeat of God. And I’m not just talking about physical places—though those are real too, like a quiet beach at dawn or that one pew in your church that just *feels* holy. I’m talking about those moments in life when you’re caught in transition, suspended, waiting, and something sacred sneaks in. Think about Moses at the burning bush in Exodus 3. He’s just out there, tending sheep, minding his own business, when *bam*—a bush is on fire but not burning up. God says, “Take off your sandals, for the place where you are standing is holy ground” (Exodus 3:5). That patch of desert wasn’t holy because of the dirt or the shrubbery. It was holy because God showed up in the in-between, in the ordinary, and Moses was paying attention. He stepped into a liminal space, a threshold where the eternal crashed into the everyday.

Or how about Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane (Matthew 26:36-46)? He’s in this gut-wrenching moment, not quite at the cross but no longer just teaching and healing. He’s in the middle, sweating blood, wrestling with what’s coming. It’s a thin place, where his humanity and divinity are laid bare, where he’s crying out to God and the air feels electric with the weight of what’s about to happen.

Have you ever been in a moment like that?
Where you’re stuck between what was and what’s next, and God feels so close it’s almost too much? Liminal spaces aren’t always comfortable. They’re often disorienting, like standing in a doorway not sure if you’re coming or going. Think about the Israelites wandering in the wilderness for 40 years (Exodus 16-17). They’d left Egypt, but the Promised Land was still a dream. They were in-between, grumbling, doubting, yet God kept showing up—manna in the morning, water from a rock. Those desert years were a thin place, where they learned to trust, to lean into the mystery of a God who meets you in the messy middle. So here’s a question for you:

Where are the liminal spaces in your life right now?
Are you in a season of waiting—maybe for a job, a relationship, a diagnosis, or just some clarity? What if those in-between moments aren’t just empty gaps but holy ground, places where God is waiting to meet you? I mean, think about it: when you’re stuck in transition, when you don’t have all the answers, don’t you find yourself a little more open, a little more raw, a little more ready to hear that still, small voice? And here’s another thing to chew on: What if liminal spaces aren’t just about you finding God, but God finding you?

In Psalm 139:7-10, David says, “Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.” There’s no in-between place where God isn’t already waiting. That jobless season, that heartbreak, that moment when you’re staring at the ceiling at 3 a.m.—those are thresholds, thin places where the divine is whispering, “I’m here.” So, what’s it look like to lean into these spaces? Maybe it’s pausing in the middle of your chaos to breathe and say, “God, show me where you are in this.” Maybe it’s noticing the ordinary moments—a sunrise, a conversation, a quiet walk—and asking, “Is this holy ground?” What if you stopped rushing through the in-between to get to the “next thing” and instead let yourself linger, let yourself listen?

Here’s one more question to sit with: What’s keeping you from seeing the thin places in your life?
Is it fear? Distraction? The need to have it all figured out? What if you let go of that for a moment and just stood still, like Moses, sandals off, ready for God to show up? Liminal spaces are everywhere, friend. They’re the thresholds, the waiting rooms, the moments when you feel a little lost but a lot alive. They’re where God loves to show up, where the ordinary becomes extraordinary. So, where’s your thin place today? And what might happen if you stepped into it, heart open, ready to meet the One who’s already there?

Keep your eyes open.
Holy ground is closer than you think.

Grace & Peace,
-Pastor Scott.